


Enough For Now

by kam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>suddenly... angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It began as an experiment. A child’s test – what can I get away with? How far can I push this? When terms such as ‘sociopath’ are tossed around from such an early age – terms which are, incidentally, quite easy to find in a basic psychological journal – well, it almost begs the question, doesn’t it? And it made everything _easier_. Christ, the amount of time saved by completely ignoring social niceties in favour of further research… These labels, handed out so casually, allow one to drastically cut down on the time one must waste. ‘Sociopath,’ ‘autistic,’ ‘asexual,’ and suddenly, one is allowed to ignore normal social boundaries and expectations, to ignore relationships and responsibilities, to ignore romantic and sexual advances. One has exponentially more time for more important work.

As far as I can tell, aside from my heightened mental capacity and function, I am a normal adult male. I am perfectly capable of understanding and experiencing the normal range of emotions, and likely a good bit more adept at recognising and explaining them. I possess a sex drive, but I also possess the ability to ignore it. I have a good grasp on social graces – but I also possess the ability to ignore them. If I am honest, I am simply hiding behind these surprisingly convenient labels and the assumptions that are attached to them.

If I continue to be honest, I would have stopped by now if they weren’t _so bloody easy_. Helpful, as well. Even with John. Especially with John. At first, I maintained the façade because I always do. By the time I had realised how important he could be, it was too late to _not_ pretend, so I continued to. I recognised the growing attraction I felt. I also noticed every one of John’s vehement protestations regarding his sexuality. So I kept silent and continued to pretend, continued to ignore, only slipped up now and again. Because it is easier to pretend I don’t feel anything than to lose him. Feelings only ever get in the way, and I won’t have that. Not in my work, and not with John.

After roughly thirty years of suppressing my various feelings and social (and sexual) desires, they have tapered off a bit. I no longer long for companionship or harbor dreams of a ‘soul mate’, as I did when I was younger. I rarely feel lonely or depressed, as I did throughout my teenage years. In fact, the majority of my feelings are related to my work. There are non-work-related things that make me happy – I like it when John brings me tea, and I enjoy playing my violin. Mycroft is still perfectly capable of making me furious; I rather think he believes it to be a game, making his emotionless little brother feel something. But for the most part, my emotions seem to have gone rusty with disuse.

The exception, of course, being jealousy. That one rears its ugly head quite regularly, particularly when John brings one of his insipid girlfriends round. I _realise_ that there is no chance of our relationship progressing beyond where it is currently, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy having my nose rubbed in it. The flat is _our_ space. It’s not fair of him to bring them in, to shatter the illusion. Naturally, I can’t tell him that, so I settle for simply driving off as many of them as I can, either by terrifying them or by making absolutely ridiculous demands on his time (with which he rarely hesitates to comply.)

So, fine. It’s fine. I have John, as much as I can. Occasionally, my emotions get the better of me, and there have been several times I’ve considered coming clean. But the cost is too high. A moment of honesty, the relief of sharing my secret with the man I love, is not worth losing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sat down to write about what if sherlock wasn't a computer, and this happened.  
> not sure how.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock thinks he’s so bloody clever. Likes to pretend that feelings are _beneath_ him. Likes to pretend genius and emotion are mutually exclusive. Tosses these terms about – ‘high functioning sociopath’ – as though they’re real. Oh, I’m sure there are high functioning sociopaths out there. Must be. But Sherlock Holmes is not one of them.

I would say I don’t know why he does it, except I do. Obviously. Defense. If you pretend nothing matters to you, nothing hurts, then people won’t waste as much time trying. If nothing matters, it can’t be taken away. I just. I don’t get it, not really. He’s done this for _years_. Then again, I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising – when he decides to do something, he takes it as far as humanly possible. And often farther, just out of spite.

He loves me. Jesus, despite what he says, I’m not _stupid_. I see it. I see it when he looks at me. I see it when I bring a girl home, see it in his eyes, the fall. I mean to stop doing that, honestly. It doesn’t happen so much anymore, only when I’ve had a bit much to drink. Usually, we go round theirs. Sarah insisted, but since her, there hasn’t been one who stayed around long enough to insist much of anything. Well. Not one I kept around long enough. Let’s be honest. I’m not really a very nice person. I just play one on TV.

It’s not that I don’t, you know. Love him. Too. It’s just. Well.

The thing is, Sherlock would never admit it. I could tell him I know, I could show him the evidence, I could admit my feelings, I could stand outside his bloody window with a boom box. He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t. It’s gone on so long, I think, that he can’t drop the act. It’s become an integral part of who he is, a bad habit he can’t shake. Doesn’t want to. And there are no rehab centres for this. There’s no 30 day program. So I keep silent and find what I need elsewhere, because he can’t, and I won’t, and so here we are. Stubborn and afraid and really, neither of us knows what we’re doing, but that’s not going to stop us.

But I stay. I will always stay. I will take what I can get from him, companionship, domesticity, adventure, and the occasional tender moment that neither of us will admit to needing. We don’t talk about that. We never mention how, after Moriarty left, Sherlock hauled me up and hugged me close, holding on just a bit too long for it not to mean something. We don’t talk about the way he brought me tea and sat too close for a week after The Woman. He never acknowledges when I buy him the fancy biscuits, because they’re his favorite, or the times I stand up for him. We just… We don’t.

The weird part (I mean, the whole thing is weird, but, you know,) is that it’s alright. It’s fine. Because I know Sherlock, and I know that he is giving me what he can. He can’t tell me, he can’t take that risk, open himself up. But it’s ok. He wouldn’t be Sherlock if he could. At least, not now. Maybe later, maybe once he can see. He’ll figure it out eventually, he has to. Then, maybe. But until then, if then ever comes, it’s fine. I have him, as much as I can. And that’s enough. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like... why.  
> i don't even _like_ angst.


End file.
